


Hallelujah

by HectorRashbaum (FifteenDozenTimes)



Category: Bon Jovi
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-27
Updated: 2007-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 07:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FifteenDozenTimes/pseuds/HectorRashbaum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is not a victory march.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hallelujah

The cold bit through Richie's jacket, tearing it apart so efficiently he might as well not have bothered. He'd forgotten how cold Jersey could get, easy enough to forget wrapped up in the comfortable warmth of southern California. November required a little more than the denim jacket that had served him so faithfully for so many years.

It didn't matter, not really. Certainly not enough to go back and grab something warmer. He was in no mood to deal with Jon who never shut up about working and Jon's wife who was being just a little too nice and Jon's kids who faithfully did their jobs as constant reminders he was a continent away from his own daughter, and being reminded of that got him uncomfortably close to thinking about how badly he'd fucked up.

Freezing a little was actually a welcome change.

His feet were moving without any real direction from his brain; he knew where he was headed but it was easier in so many ways to pretend he was just wandering for the Hell of it. When he got where he was going he could pretend it was chance, pretend he hadn't known damn well he was on his way to the one house he knew he could count on to be almost as empty as the one he'd left a few time zones away.

The house was dark, the door locked, but that didn't mean a damn thing and Richie just slipped the spare key out of its hiding place under the welcome mat and let himself in.

As usual, the dark, silent exterior had been a lie - the warm glow of lights and the even warmer notes from a lone piano drifted down the stairs to greet Richie as he toed his shoes off. Whatever David was playing was familiar; he couldn't place it, but it wrapped around him and sliced through him as he walked up the stairs the way only something that had found a place in him could do.

David was bent over the piano, eyes closed, face reflecting that odd combination of the peace playing brought him and the passionate sorrow of whatever it was he was playing. David never hurt for too long because David had learned how to let it out.

Bastard.

"Hey," Richie said, just loud enough for David to feel obligated to stop playing and acknowledge him.

"I wish you'd stop sneaking in here."

He didn't mean it.

"Sorry."

David shrugged and looked up at him. "No you're not. Jon issues?"

"Happy family issues. Gonna offer me a drink?"

"You finished everything I had last time. Sorry."

Richie was on his way to the bench, another one of those things his feet did without asking first. David was waiting for him, having somehow gotten the piano lid closed and stood up without actually moving.

"I'll call before I come next time," Richie said.

"No you won't. And don't worry about it."

He was close to David, too close, but he kept moving forward, and his lips met David's because they had to, because when he'd been snapping at Jon and walking aimlessly and crossing the room it was all so he could kiss David and fuck if he knew why.

Convenient, almost too convenient, that David's favorite piano was in his bedroom, that every time Richie came looking for him he was right there near a bed. Maybe he did it on purpose; maybe he was just living his entire life in one room.

It didn't make much of a difference, either way. Because something about the way David kissed wiped Richie's mind blank, and something about the way those hands roamed over his skin made Richie want to fall on his knees and beg for David, for the warmth and passion and whatever it was about David that patched up whatever was torn inside him, and he'd go as far as possible to get that when he needed it.

David pushed him back on the bed, sliding up to capture Richie's lips again, never letting Richie go long without the taste of him. Richie's fingers clutched at the sheets, some last section of his mind that wasn't sure about this keeping those fingers away from blond curls.

He arched and twisted into David's hands as they pushed his t-shirt up, deft fingers skimming over his chest and stomach and sending sparks through his veins. Kiss broken to work the shirt over his head, David taking care of his own at the same time and those lips were on his again, tongue darting into his mouth and dancing with his own.

Richie's hands gave up and slid around David's waist, up to rest on his back and hold him as close as Richie could get him. But David resisted, pulling up to kneel over Richie instead, and Richie had to bite back the complaint.

"You're so impatient," David murmured, as he fumbled with Richie's belt and button and zipper and Richie didn't bother to argue. More sparks, David making sure to make as much contact as possible while he slid Richie's pants down. The heat in his gaze as he stripped himself was so intense Richie had to close his eyes for fear of being burned alive.

The bed dipped and shifted under him, a drawer opened and closed, more shifting, and Richie opened his eyes at the pop of a cap, cock that until now had been almost an afterthought hardening further in anticipation.

He hadn't wanted to like it the first time, he'd planned to hate the feel of slick fingers probing him, opening him up for a hard dick, but whether it was actually good or it was part of that David _thing_, he liked it more every time.

Richie arched and pushed his hips down, grinding against the two fingers thrusting in and out of him, grazing that spot inside him that made his hips buck and his breath catch and his body catch on fire. And the whole time David was watching him, burning him from the outside as his fingers burned Richie from the inside.

"Please."

Such a loaded word, even if on its own it didn't mean a fucking thing. David understood it, David always knew what Richie was getting at, and he pressed a soft kiss to Richie's stomach as he withdrew his fingers.

That was the worst part, the emptiness, the seemingly endless hours of emptiness while David shifted to his knees and slicked himself up. More shifting and David was kissing him again, kissing him like he wanted to steal Richie's breath and his soul and everything in him.

And Richie would let him, because David filled whatever emptiness he left. The blunt, slick head of David's dick pressed against his opening, another feeling he'd wanted to hate, and just like he depended on, just like David never promised but always delivered, he filled Richie.

Richie arched and pushed his hips against David, thrusting, trying and failing to force him into a faster pace. David just kept kissing him, kept up that agonizingly slow rhythm that let Richie feel every fucking vein as he withdrew and pushed back in. He pulled away from the kiss as he wrapped his hand around Richie's dick, pulling up enough to watch the need and desperation play across Richie's face.

He gasped when Richie's fingernails dug into his shoulders, leaving fresh marks and opening old ones, and his eyes closed and Richie welcomed the relief from the heat of his gaze. His hips jerked, moved faster, and Richie's back arched further, grunts and moans that must be coming from him filling the room. David buried his face in Richie's neck, biting and sucking and licking and nuzzling, hand pumping Richie's cock almost violently.

The air in the room was thick, so thick Richie could hardly breathe, pressure building up inside and out, and could he be crushed simultaneously by two opposing forces like that? Because fuck, it felt like it, and David squeezed his hand and Richie cried out and his hips bucked and he dug his fingers harder into David's abused shoulders as the pressure let off and he came until he couldn't see.

And David was still thrusting, faster now, just using Richie's body to push himself over the edge while Richie tried to keep breathing. Selfish as it was, Richie really only gave a shit about David coming because he kissed Richie when it hit, just as desperate and brutal as any other kiss.

The shower was too hot. The shower at David's was always too hot, for any number of reasons. Some part of him, the same part that kept his fingers tangled in the sheets rather than David's hair, probably wanted to make sure he got as clean as he could. As if this were the one thing out of all the other shit in his life that left him dirty.

Richie hadn't seen a single room of David's house that wasn't either attached to the bedroom or on the way there from the front door. Something about that should strike him as odd, that no matter what time he showed up David was in the bedroom, hunched over the piano or writing something. And it was weird - but he couldn't say anything, because David might change his habits and then what the fuck would Richie depend on?

David was playing the piano when he finally made it out of the shower, because David never did anything else. Same thing he was playing when Richie showed up, same haunting melody that wrapped around him far more comfortably than the clothes he wandered around the room gathering up and wiggling into.

"That's nice."

"Yeah. Jon told me to get comfy with it. You leaving?"

"You wouldn't believe the bitching out I get if I come in late and wake up the little kids. Christ. So, yeah, I should get going."

"You could stay here, you know. I mean, if Jon's driving you so crazy...not like I don't have the space, you know?"

Richie let it hang in the air for a minute, let the notes David kept playing wrap around it while the idea bounced around in his brain.

"Nah." Because then where the Hell would he escape to? "But thanks."

The kitchen was on the way to the door, most of the surfaces covered with takeout containers. David used to like to cook, used to make them all dinner when they ended up in Jersey. Couldn't leave the bedroom for too long, though, could he.

Richie stood outside for a minute, letting the wind tear his jacket apart and do away with the warmth he'd built up inside. He took two steps, just enough to get off the stoop, realized he'd forgotten to lock the door behind him and went back.

He couldn't hear David playing, not with him sequestered at the back of the house with the windows closed, but the song was in his ears and inside him, and rather than lock the door Richie opened it and went back inside.


End file.
